


Time of Forging

by L_A_Red94



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Lightsbridge, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15188243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_A_Red94/pseuds/L_A_Red94
Summary: "Name?"Tris detested lying, but she sucked in a breath."Igrid Hornwright.""Subject?""Magic," she found herself saying. "Academic magic."---At last, Tris begins her studies at Lightsbridge. Between spiteful students, a series of disappearances and the complexities of concealing her identity, it won't be easy.As though Trisana would ever give up at the sight of hard work.





	1. Chapter 1

Lightsbridge University  
Karang  
1044 K.F.

That year, summer had baked the lands north of the Osun mountains into dry paper before disappearing as suddenly as it arrived. Now, early autumn gales tore through the quiet streets of Glasa, dragging debris in its wake. No sane person would willingly venture out into an afternoon like this. To an onlooker however, Trisana Chandler looked far from sane.

  
A plump girl in her late teens, Tris wore her wiry red curls in a rigid series of braids, tucked neatly under a deep blue headscarf. The scarf would have brought out the colour of her storm grey eyes, but for the tinted spectacles jammed onto the end of her long nose. She was a pale girl, paler than usual against the overcast sky of Karang, and she tended towards plump. Her clothes - a dark grey coat worn over a deep blue wrap dress and long-sleeved under dress - were plain, if well made. In truth, every stitch was the work of Sandry, Tris's sister and powerful thread mage, and as such were among the most costly garments in the entire university. Tris, however, knew well enough to keep such information well hidden. Hindered by the weight of a dozen books, torn and scattered by the winds, she hardly looked like one of the most powerful mages in living

memory. There were many things, in all, that Trisana Chandler kept hidden.

Struggling against the wind (privately longing to tear out her braids and delight in the gale) she didn't notice her name being called at first.

"Igrid!" The voice came from downwind, but at last, Tris stopped. She squinted to her left, where a figure stood waving at the door of a tavern. "Igrid! In here!"

Cae. Who but Caeleck Waith would invite her in for a drink? For a moment, Tris considered refusing, until a particularly strong gust flooded her vision with scraps of colour. She shuddered. Since learning to scry on the wind years ago - a feat thought to be impossible by most - Tris had learned to block out the constant stream of visions carried on the gentlest of breezes, but big winds, like today's, were still too much for her. Suddenly, the idea of being safe and indoors held an enormous appeal.

"Come on!" Cae yelled. The thought of returning to her rooms, and that housemate of hers, settled her. With a heartfelt sigh, she trudged towards the tavern, thinking that she could at least read her book some place warm.

"We're playing runespur," Cae informed her proudly. "I'm losing - join my team?"

Tris snorted inelegantly. Runespur was the latest student craze, a game which involved a knife, a set of cards and, among non-mages, copious amounts of wine.

"I'll leave you to it," she said flatly, turning to the bar.

"At least let me get you a drink?" He asked. A tall, fair skinned youth, Cae was blandly handsome behind his thick spectacles and mop of brown curls.  
She scowled at him.

"I can afford my own," she snapped. He smiled at her, shrugged and turned back to the game. Tris let him go. Wealthy, handsome and popular, he had no reason to associate with her. None that she trusted.

"Iggy!" A different mage student called at her with a wave. She stiffened. "Hey, Iggy Piggy!"

One or two others joined in, making little oinking sounds at her.

"Blue tea, please," she muttered to the barman, who nodded in sympathy. Her good mood from an afternoon in the library had shaken with the wind and now vanished.

"No charge," he told her. "I'd throw them all out if da would let me."

She favoured him with a smile before fishing a book from her bag. The students, bored by her lack of response, turned back to their game. After a few minutes of intense reading - moral philosophy was an entirely new subject to her - Tris felt warmth beside her. She scowled at Cae.

"I'm sorry about them," he said, voice carrying. "I'm not going to spend any more time with people like that, not while they treat you badly."

He sounded sincere, but she had met people like Cae before. Boys like Cae.

"Spend time with whoever you like," she said flatly. "I'm happy with my books."

"You're reading Jelson?" There was a touch of enthusiasm in his voice which might have endeared him to Tris, were he not ignoring her wish for solitude. "What do you think of her response to the Goldman challenge?"

"I'll let you know when I get to it," she snapped. "Go back to your game."

Cae shrugged.

"Not until they," he nodded to the group behind him who were all staring at Tris with confusion and malice, "apologise."

"Then you're in for a boring time," she replied, turning a page. "They won't say sorry, and I won't stop reading."

"Very well," he mock bowed to her before standing. "I do believe my time would be spent productively by copying out my history notes. My lady."

With a grin, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked out, whistling. Tris glanced at his retreating back and shook her head.

“Bags," she muttered, using her brother Briar's favourite word for those with more money than sense. The barman favoured her with a grin. Sipping her blue tea, a favourite of students in Kanang, she turned back to her book. At least in reading, she could escape her fellow students for a while.

As she read, she wasn’t quite conscious of the tavern emptying around her. She bought a second cup of tea, along with a plate of onion fritters, from the keeper and poured through a few chapters until the staff began to light lanterns about her. Blinking up, she realised that the better part of the evening had passed.

“You got lost for a while there,” Sinek, the friendly barman, told her with a grin. She smiled ruefully back at him.

“I don’t mean to be rude.”

He shook his head.

“Happens all the time with students,” he assured her. “You’ll watch yourself going home, won’t you? Ten to one, those louts in here earlier are looking to start something.”

“I’ll be careful,” she assured him, fishing in her purse for a few coins. She left the man a generous tip before stowing her books and stepping out hesitantly into the wind. It hit against her in a rush of colour and light. Two students kissing under a tree, an upturned cart in Drune’s Square, a party in the student district.

“Now!” a voice, caught on a breeze, floated into her ear, cold with intent. “Hurry up and get her!”

Tris dived to one side – she was much faster than she looked – ahead of a noxious spray of canal water. The water, tipped by one of Cae’s friends who lurked on one of the flat-roofed buildings above her, splattered near by on the ground. She heard cursing and giggling as hot rage sprouted up inside her. An urge came over her, for just a moment, to blow the whole lot of them off the roof and into the filthy canal itself. Knowing they would have brought a spare bucket, she stepped smartly under the building’s awning, out of sight, and walked briskly in the direction of her small rooms. After several minutes, her fists unclenched, her heart began to settle and her angry headache receded somewhat. Since coming to Lightsbridge to study a month ago, Tris had promised herself not to reveal her true identity or powers to anybody. As far as anybody was concerned, she was Igrid Hornwright – an academic mage like any other first year student. But those lackspittle kaqs up there weren’t making it easy. For a moment, she wondered if Cae had been among them, before she dismissed the thought angrily. Why should she care, even if he was one of her tormentors? She wasn’t here to make friends. All she wanted was her certificate and license. After that, she could make herself an honest living selling talismans, spells and charms. Something useful. Something safe. Something normal.  
After a month, she was discovering that normal made her teeth ache. Not for the first time, she was grateful for her decision to accept Duke Vedris’s contributions to her fees and board. Her original plan had been to sign up to the university as a servile – a student who worked as a servant in her or his free time in exchange for study and a room in the servants’ halls. Seeing how the serviles were treated by the other students, and even some teachers, however, made her appreciate the Duke’s offer.  
She had baulked at first, hating the idea of accepting any charity from even Vedris. Sandry had argued with her and Briar had teased her, but it was Daja in the end who was the most convincing.

“The Duke is investing in you,” her sister assured her in no-nonsense Trader talk. “Take his offer for now, then repay your debt by serving him and Sandry. You’ll be of more worth to both of them with your credentials from Lightsbridge.”

Those last few weeks in Summersea had been bittersweet. Tris hated to leave her siblings – Daja’s booming forge and Briar’s gardens, Sandry with her big heart and clacking loom. She missed Lark and Rosethorn, and their collection of strays, fiercely. Even Chime – her enchanted glass dragon - had to be left behind while she studied. But, as Daja had said, it would all be worth it. Worth the students’ pranks and her need for secrecy, and even worth the loneliness of leaving her home and family.  
By degree, her temper settled and her self pity hardened to determination. She would fly through her time here, as quickly – quicker – than she had completed her studies at Winding Circle. She nodded to herself as she stepped into her building, sure that she could finish her first philosophy assignment within the week, when a burst of loud laughter sounded from the end of the corridor.

From her rooms.

Cautiously, she allowed a breeze to drift to her from the ruckus. Voices circled her, loud and carrying. Tris felt herself stiffen in anger. That mudbrained, addled, inconsiderate kaq was throwing a party! In their shared rooms!

Tris heaved an angry breath and stormed towards the disturbance, flinging the door open with a bang. Above the drunken clatter of non mages and explosive bangs of their magical counterparts, nobody noticed her. Impatient, Tris released a breeze from her hair and used it to carry her voice around the living space.

“What’s going on?” she snapped. The noise settled. Satisfied, she let the wind drop. The students were free to think that she had used some charm or amulet to amplify her voice.

“Igrid!” Roelle swayed towards her, giggling. It was a small mark in her roommates favour that, even drunk, she avoided using that awful nickname some of the mages had given her. Whatever goodwill that brought her was draining fast, however. “Igrid!” Roelle said again, “we’re having a – a party!”

She burst out laughing, cupping her mouth with a trembling hand. “No classes tomorrow!”

“If we are to commemorate every Firesday with a party,” Tris said, voice dry as the leaves outside, “then you will never be sober again.”

This only made Roelle laugh harder. Around her, one or two party goers looked set to kickstart the fun again.

“We’re moving the party next door,” a voice said nearby. She turned to face Cae, who lounged, perfectly sober against the door to the kitchen. Tris was a little surprised- she expected the boy to have been among his friends on the tavern roof. Clearly, that was impossible if he’d been here this whole time. “You’re free to join us of course.”

Tris glowered at him.

“It looks like I’ll be too busy cleaning up other peoples’ messes.”

“Suit yourself.” Pitching his voice, he called out to the crowd. “Next door everyone! Their cellar has a bathhouse!”

Cheering, the partygoers cleared the room, leaving only Roelle, Cae and Tris herself. Roelle, ordinarily very pretty, was a spectacle with her dark hair spiked in all directions, paint smeared across her face and a dazed, drunk expression on her face.

“Party!” she giggled, clinging to a wall for support. “C’mon.”

Cae grinned, revealing one dimple.

“Not for you, friend,” he told her, propping her up against him. “Your mate Igrid and I are gonna put you to bed now.”

“No bed,” she protested. “S’too early.”

She wasn’t wrong. With the sun only just setting, most parties had barely begun.

“You’ve started the night too quickly, er…” He looked at Tris for help.

“You don’t even know her name?” She demanded.

“I just saw a party and joined in!” he grinned. “I didn’t know you lived here!”

“Where else would she live?” Roelle asked, now hiccupping. “All her stuff is here, you know. So many books…”

“That’s Roelle,” Tris explained with a sigh. “He is right, I’m sorry to say. If you go out now, you’ll end up falling in the canal.”

“No,” she laughed, “they’ve all gone to the bathhouse, silly!”

“Not tonight,” Cae sounded strangely gentle with the girl. “Tonight the party’s through here…”

“That’s Igrid’s room,” Roelle slurred. “She hates parties.”

“Oh, so you do remember,” Tris muttered sourly, towing the girl towards the correct room. It was a mess. Laundry was piled about the floor, books scattered haphazardly over the desk. At least Roelle kept the mess – usually – to her own bedroom instead of spreading it through their shared living area.

“Lie her on her side, in case she vomits,” Cae suggested. Tris turned to glare at him, but followed his advice all the same. “I’ll get some water from the kitchen, shall I?”

Remembering her own ill fated experiment with alcohol (lightning, barn) Tris let go of a knot of resentment and began to neaten up Roelle’s room. She dumped laundry into the basket, opened a window for fresh air and dragged the desk chair across to act as a bedside table. Roelle stirred a little and fell abruptly asleep with a loud snore. When Cae returned, he grinned.

“Leave this for her,” he advised. “Sometimes I wish I could drink with the others, until I see people like this.”

Tris just shrugged, privately agreeing. She would happily forego an evening’s pleasure if it meant no appalling headache the next day.

With Roelle settled, Cae turned to Tris.

“I’m going next door with the others, if you want-”

“No,” she said quickly. She could imagine the type of party they were having. “Thank you, but no.”

Cae looked a little put out, but then he shrugged, bowed and left the room with a sweeping gesture. Tris shut the door behind him with relief. The last time a boy had looked at her with interest had ended appallingly. She didn’t trust this Cae any more than she could throw him. Heaving a sigh, she set to work clearing up the debris left in the wake of the students. Cups, glasses and even bowls lay half full and strewn about the kitchen and living space. On the table sat a large barrel and several glass bottles which still swirled with liquid. Well, that was easily dealt with. Tris heaved the barrel under one arm and marched outside with it. Anyone could take it who wanted it, and if it were still here in the morning, she’d pour it in the canal. It wasn’t as though the water could get any dirtier. The bottles she gathered to be emptied and cleaned in the morning. It never hurt to have a few spare bottles about, and the glassmakers in Glasa overcharged something shocking.

With Roelle, she shared a good sized living space. If she’d accepted more money from Duke Vedris, she might have her own set of rooms in a more fashionable part of town, but she’d put her foot firmly down when Sandry had suggested she live in luxury. Instead, she economised, sharing her space. For all that, she had a large, comfortable room, a cosy kitchen, a living space with plenty of bookshelves and a large oak desk and a small pump in the garden for water. Her neighbours in the building – an elderly couple upstairs and more students down – were all polite and pleasant and even Roelle herself wasn’t all bad. Mostly.

Tris washed and dried all the used things and stacked up the rest of the trash to be taken away in the morning. There was a muggy, dank smell in the kitchen, so she attacked the floor with some vicious sweeping and a good mop with lemon soap. By the time she’d finished, she was stiff, tired and angrier than ever. Deciding to leave the rest of her reading until the morning, she cleaned her teeth, flopped onto the bed, and was asleep in seconds.

-

Morpeg could hear the students outside the building laughing and screaming. His lips tightened a little as he returned to scrubbing the floors. Tomorrow was Watersday – most students’ highly anticipated rest day. Even the regular servants got paid extra, or given the day off.

Not so for the serviles. Tomorrow, he could look forward to an uninterrupted day of scrubbing floors, washing dishes, laundry and, if he were unlucky, mopping away vomit from the streets. And the gods forgive him if he ever breathe a word in complaint about any of this to the Master of Serviles. The pug faced woman would just sniff at him and didn’t he know how lucky he was? Didn’t he know that the lesser universities wouldn’t admit him at all? How could he be so greedy and selfish and common?  
A splash outside. Someone had jumped in the canal. Splendid. Perhaps they’d catch an autumn chill and he could clean up their messes too.

Throwing his sponge down in disgust, he strode purposefully to the open window. He could always quit, he told himself. He disliked the idea intensely, but he also hated the thought of waiting hand and foot on these spoiled mages for the next four years. For a moment, he really thought he’d do it. March back to Dedicate Greenwing and thrust his sponge into her smug face. He’d storm away in triumph and…

And eek out a meagre living as an uncredited mage? And admit to his family that he’d failed? His moment of triumph popped like a wet bubble. Dejected, Morpeg turned back to his pale and sponge. The more work he did tonight, the more time he’d have tomorrow.

Absorbed as he was in his scrubbing, he didn’t see the door swing silently open behind him, or the shadow flash across the bare tiles. He saw and heard nothing until the first kick landed, sharp as glass against his ribs.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days after Roelle's party, Tris woke early. Outside, she could feel the wind blowing from the south and her heart gave a leap. News from home!

Hastily dressing and smoothing her braids under a black scarf, Tris had to force herself to take the time to eat a bowl of porridge before dashing out of her small home. She could almost hear Rosethorn's voice, steel sharp, in her ears.

“Dashing off to work a piece of great magic is all well and good,” her foster mother would tell her scathingly, “until you realise you've overreached yourself and I have to clean up the dead mage from my roof.”

At this, Lark's eyes would crinkle in amusement and she would gesture pointedly to the fresh loaf on the table. Sandry would slice the bread with a sympathetic look, while Daja smiled to herself and Briar teased her. Those days at Discipline Cottage were long gone, and even the four's shared home on Cheeseman street seemed impossibly far away until today.

Leaving Roelle asleep – most Lightsbridge students slept late when they could – Tris stepped into the chilled grey servant's dawn. The wind, damp with the spray of an upcoming storm, carried flashes of colour which she firmly ignored. Not here, she told herself. Not now. 

Unlike Winding Circle – its own self-contained community - Lightsbridge University sprawled throughout the small city of Glasa, its various colleges and libraries pocketed about the town. On long, lonely mornings, Tris often wandered about to meet merchants and vendors, bakers and craftsmen and street performers. Today, however, she passed the tradespeople with a smile and nod, calves aching as she took the long, steep path to the Rose gate. The entire country of Karang, or so it seemed to Tris, was built on hills, and Glasa was no exception. The city was ringed with five Great Hills, each named for a different founder of the city. While Forla's hill to the east was nearer, Tris decided to head south, that she could scry without the activity of the city bombarding her. 

After ten minutes of brisk walking, she paused on a bench by one of Glasa's lesser parks to massage her tense calves and take deep breaths when she noticed a small bump nearby. A bundle of clothing at a glance, until she saw it move. Shocked – there weren't many homeless people in this prosperous town – Tris approached the bundle cautiously. It was a cold, damp morning following a bitter night, poor conditions for anyone sleeping rough. 

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. If the person was asleep, she'd keep walking rather than waking them. Instead, the bundle stirred, and a head poked out from layers of dirty rags. The person – a woman, she realised – was quite young, with lively brown eyes framed with dark lashes. She blinked up at Tris in confusion, and the mage felt a prickle of recollection.

“Do I know you?” She asked the woman, who continued to blink up at her mutely. “Is there anything you need?” More slow blinking. Well, that had been a rather stupid question. Realising that she was getting nowhere and impatient to be getting away, Tris counted out three silver prelis and held them out to the woman who took them with a shaking hand. 

“The temple of Eilig in Gods square takes in women who need help,” Tris told her. Something about the woman was perturbingly familiar, though she couldn't place it for the life of her. “Do you know how to get there?”

Silence. Then a jerky nod, so small she almost missed it. 

“Will you go there?”

Another nod. 

Tris rocked back on her knees and, as an afterthought, pulled the scarf from her hair. She was already well-dressed against the cold, and a scarf woven by Sandry would offer more warmth than the woman's filthy rags. She placed it by the prelis and made to stand when the woman's hand shot out with surprising speed to grip her forearm. She caught Tris's eyes for a long moment before nodding once more and releasing her. 

-

Lost in thought, Tris didn't realise she'd reached the Rose Gate until she heard the commanding bellow from above. 

“Hoy there!” 

Tris craned her neck to see the watchtower clearly and waved up.

“What business,” the guard called, voice friendly. There was no threat in a person leaving the town, after all. 

“Mage work,” Tris shouted back, sending her voice up on a little wind to reach her more clearly. “I need to get to the top of the hill.”

“Not for students,” came the reply. “Baron's orders.”

Sighing, she despised revealing her powers to strangers, Tris pulled her Winding Circle medallion out from under the collar of her dress and held it up. 

“I'm accredited,” she told her.

After a moment's silence – would she descend to inspect her medallion up close? - the guard shrugged and waved her ahead. While the Rose Gate proper – a sturdy oak gate broad enough to admit two carriages side by side – would remain closed until the business day started, Tris was able to leave through a small side door.

“If you hit trouble in the hills, are you able to look for yourself?” the guard asked. On this side of the gate, Tris could see her more clearly – an older woman in ring mail worn over a white tunic. That she knew to ask this spoke of her experience in a town flooded with mages.

“I'll be alright,” Tris assured her. “How long will you be here?”

“Till noon. If you're later than that, I'll tell the next guard to expect you.”

“Thank you!”

With a puff, Tris hiked up her long woollen skirts and trudged up the steep slope. The wind whipped at her as she moved, bringing with it scraps of colour and conversation. Her heart thudded with expectation as much as with exercise. 

While the sun was still obscured by a dense layer of cloud, the sky lightened as Tris climbed. Like much of Karang, the hill was all grass and scrub. Very few trees, Rosethorn had once said with a sniff, grew in Karang. In spring, the hills would bloom with thousands of wildflowers, but all Tris could see was patchy bushes and sparse heather on either side of the path. At last, just as the sun was appearing through a chip in the clouds, Tris reached the sheer cliff face which marked the top of Garlan's hill, where she sat for several minutes, gasping. Catching her breath, she was able to admire the view. Sloping hills and pasture rolled out for miles in all directions. Fields of beans, wheat and barley glowed like patchwork, interspersed with the scrubby graze land dotted with livestock. Almost all of the produce was channelled straight to Glasa – dozens of miles of land to service one small town. Beyond the fields loomed the Osun mountains, purple in the dawn. Tris breathed in the scent of morning air before removing her tinted glasses and letting the southern wind stream over her.

Since her arrival in Glasa three weeks ago, she had only managed to scry for home once. Then, she had made the mistake of choosing Forla's hill as her vantage point, where images of the city had overwhelmed her, leaving her with a ferocious headache. Garlan's hill, in contrast, was perfect. 

Plumping herself onto the grass, she folded into a weaver's seat and began counting her breaths. First, she turned inwards, following the silver fire of her own magic deep into her core. It swirled there like clouds, ready to be drawn and shaped as she chose fit. Slowly, she pulled out a tendril of silver smoke and wrapped it around her wrist with practised precision. After a few seconds, she slid it away, looping her power around her other wrist. Shaping her magic so precisely was trying, but important. Although it had been years since Tris's last accident, she would never forget that to lose control of her power was to endanger all around her. 

She continued her meditation for some time, sending herself into the sky, the heavy clouds. There was a storm due, she realised, heart light with joy. Thunder and lightning and real rain for once.

At last, she blinked her eyes open and slowed the winds around her to a focussed channel. Now, instead of colour surrounding the periphery of her vision, Tris saw only a single tunnel of light. Delighted, she plunged into it, scrolling past the fields and the mountains and the plains beyond. She whirled beyond Karang in a burst of speed, and more towns and country, so fast that she barely registered it all. The wind brought her images of Qalai, Janaal and Sotat, of Lairan and Gansar and, at last the deep blue of the Pebbled Sea. There were a cluster of islands, smoking in the water. Back and back until she saw flashes of green, a building made of glass, a long winding road where a heavily built, white skinned youth trudged with a pale of water. Kirel! The man had studied with Frostpine along with Daja when they were all children, Tris remembered, though it had been a long time since she'd spoken with him. On she looked, spotting flashes of Dedicate Gorse – chief of Winding Circle's kitchens – a cluster of white robed novices, and a familiar, dark skinned woman with a crop of short curls.

When Tris broke away from the images in the wind some time later, the sun had fully risen and her cheeks were damp. Wind in my eyes, she thought, scrubbing at her face furiously before staggering to her feet. Suddenly, she realised how hungry she was. Enjoying one last glance at the Osun mountains, she turned to make her way back to the city.   
_

Although she had left before the sun had risen fully, Tris found herself running late to her noon class. Knees groaning from her morning's exercise, she slipped into the lecture theatre at a half-jog just as Dedicate Lapwing was introducing the topic. Her dark, sharp eyes narrowed as they focussed on the late comer. 

“All things in magic are precise,” she snapped in her nasal voice. “For those who lack discipline – in body or mind – disaster soon follows.”

Cheeks burning, Tris ignored the smirks of a cluster of her year mates and settled into the second row before lifting her writing box from her bag. As Lapwing pointedly restarted her lecture on the constellations of the Pebbled Sea, Tris felt a soft pat at the back of her head. Whipping round, she caught the balled up paper thrown at her and unfolded it to reveal an unflattering picture of herself, running, with a bright red face behind comically oversized glasses. Tris raised her eyebrows at it and turned back to the lecture. Lapwing was prickly as a cactus when interrupted, but she was also an engaging speaker. Behind her, she could hear the satisfied giggle of a group of students. Honestly. Glaki could draw a better picture than that produced by the muttonheads behind her. 

Another paper hit her head after a minute, and then a third, before Tris had had enough. A spark, she decided, would put those kaqs in their place.

Idly, Tris plucked at the end of one long braid, wrapping a tendril of hair around her little finger. Through her magic, she could see the boys behind her – Kerlic and his cronies – scribbling notes to each other. It was the simplest thing in the world to slip a bit of lightning through her magic, and...

“Hey!”

Whipping around with the others, Tris was satisfied to see Kerlic on his feet, hands clasped over his bottom as he yowled in pain.

“By the gods!” he gasped. “What was that?”

The laughter that started was cut off abruptly as Lapwing drew herself to her full, impressive height. Gradually, pupils sat back down, leaving only a red faced Kerlic standing at the back of the room.

“Mr Osishon,” Lapwing said, her voice tight with rage. “What could you mean by this unseemly display?”

“I'm sorry, Dedicate,” he mumbled, “I think there was a bee...”

His voice trailed off hopelessly.

“A bee,” she replied softly, her words very clipped. “Well, Mr Osishon, until you can learn to withstand the attack of a bee, you may reflect on the stars in solitude. Leave us.”

For a moment, Kerlick worked his mouth like a stupid fish before he nodded, beat red with humiliation, and shuffled down to the front of the room. As he passed, Tris resisted the urge to turn and smirk at him. She had won, there was no need to gloat. Well, at least not visibly.

As Lapwing resumed her lecture, Tris caught the eye of a dark skinned servile girl down the row. The girl was staring right at her, shock visible in her dark eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this done faster than I'd planned! 
> 
> There's very little information that I can find about Karang or Lightsbridge, so I've gone ahead and made practically everything up. Lapwing is loosely based on one of my old lecturers, who was famous for shouting at latecomers and one time threatening to jump on my phone if it made another noise.


	3. Chapter 3

Racing out of the lecture hall, Tris ignored the red faced Kerlic who was waiting for his friends, intent as she was on catching up with the servile girl. Like all serviles, this one wore a black tunic and loose breeches lined with white thread; unlike the others however, this one seemed determined to avoid Tris. She picked up the pace, all but chasing the girl out into the quad.

“Girl,” from behind Tris, Lapwing strode, imperious as the Namornese empress. “Woodson!” 

The servile girl froze and turned to bow towards Lapwing, who thrust a stack of papers into her arms. 

“Take these to Beesbury,” she commanded. The girl bowed, cheeks darkening. Tris felt a stab of pity; the Beesbury library was a half mile away, too far to make it back on time for their next class. 

“Wait,” Tris began, but Lapwing frowned at her.

“Alessa has duties to attend to,” she said sternly. “She cannot follow the errands of an undergraduate at the same time.”

Tris watched the girl as she trotted away resignedly. Briar would have simply gone with her, carried the papers for her and maybe offered a flirtatious smile. Sandry would have attached a slim thread of magic to the girl to track her down later in the day. Daja would have shrugged and waited for the girl to act in her own time. 

Tris wasn't as patient as Daja; she certainly couldn't flirt like Briar could and her magic, while powerful, would never be as subtle as Sandry's. If the servile girl returned for their next class, Tris could always corner her afterwards. If not, she'd see her tomorrow, or the next day. Pent up with anxious energy, she turned back towards the lecture hall to almost collide with a solid body.

“Careful there,” Cae smiled down at her. Tris's mood, already sour, grew colder still. “If you've an errand to run, I'm happy to be your humble servant.”

“Humble as a peacock,” he agreed lightly. “Even humbler than Kerlic, though less magnificent in my choice of enemies.”

She hesitated.

“What do you mean?” she asked sharply. “He was stung by a bee. He said so himself.”

“Oh yes,” Cae agreed. “And didn't that bee have the finest taste in targets?”

“Evidently.” She couldn't help but smile a little.

“I'd be worried about annoying you, Igrid, for fear of being stung myself.”

“Not worried enough.”

“No,” he smiled, and that at least seemed honest. “You're worth getting stung over, I think.”

She scowled at him.

“Keep that up, and you might be dealing with a whole swarm.” But she wasn't really cross, so much as curious about where this was going.

To her surprised relief, he just smiled wider. 

“I think you should give him a real surprise one of these days,” he mused. “Some people need to be taught manners.”

“I imagine he'll learn, in time.”

“Have you had lunch?” Cae asked, reminding Tris of how hungry she was. “There's a nice bakers round the corner – they sell this black bread-”

“I have to finish the reading for Medicine this afternoon,” she said, more sharply than she'd meant. It was even honest; she'd read Hamwin's Distinctions while studying with Niko, but liked to reread the texts before studying them again. Cae looked disappointed.

“Oh, alright,” he said, with a small smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, though she still wasn't entirely convinced that Kerlic had nothing to do with this. “I'll see you soon.”

Choosing to avoid the denser student areas, Tris sat to read in the entrance to the lecture hall instead, and sat for a long time until Dedicate Bluestar tripped over her. 

“Careful – oh, Igrid,” the mage was younger than many of their teachers, with a lean, tanned face heavily marked by some childhood pox, and a crooked nose. “Would you mind helping me set up?”

She nodded, stowing her book, and followed him into the hall. 

“There was no reading on the sign for today,” Tris pointed out as she layed out slates and chalk along the benches. “What's the new topic?”

“Does anybody do the reading anyway?” he asked with a crooked smile. Tris raised her eyebrows and he laughed. “Except you, of course,” he conceded. “We're looking at different types of magic for the next two weeks.”

“You mean ambient magic?” she asked, feeling resigned. Her teacher Rosethorn had warned her of Lightsbridge mages attitude towards ambient magic. 

“Also shamanry and mimander magic,” he agreed. “Most people don't go into study about any of these magics, but it's worth covering the fringe subjects early on, in case they spark an interest for anyone.”

“And in case there are any ambient mages in the room,” Tris pointed out. She tried not to take offense at the 'fringe' comment. 

Bluestar looked surprised.

“Of course. Statistically, there ought to be at least one in a year of your size... Yes, come in!”

As the rest of the pupils filed in, Tris retreated to her usual middle row. A group of giggling girls slid along the row next to her, gazing appreciatively at Bluestar. One of the girls – Henna? - made a very crude suggestion about the teacher which made Tris's cheeks flush red. Unlike her siblings Briar and Daja, Tris didn't have much experience of romance or sex. Henna caught her eye and coughed in embarrassment.

“Sorry, Igrid,” she giggled. “I didn't see you there.”

“You were distracted,” she replied stonily. The girls collapsed into more peals of laughter as Bluestar cleared his throat to begin the class.

-

Tris's mood was decidedly sour when she returned to her small rooms, and declined still further when she saw the mess of papers, books and spilt tea all over the dining table. While they didn't belong to her, Tris despised seeing good books so mistreated. Thunderous, she lay down a towel to mop up the tea and began moving the papers to an open window.

“Igrid?” Stretching, Roelle emerged from her room with another cup of tea clutched in one hand. “You're back very early.”

“It's three o'clock,” she pointed out tersely.

“Is it?” Roelle shrugged. “Lost track of the time I guess. What happened here?”

Tris wheeled around to stare her down. 

“This is what I saw when I got in just now,” she snapped. 

Roelle blinked up at her. 

“Oh. I must have knocked the cup. What's the matter?”

Taking a deep breath, Tris settled the anger that threatened to spill out of her braids. 

“The matter is that two of us live here, Roelle,” she said, forcing her voice to be level. “It isn't right that I end up cleaning up after you.”

Those blue eyes narrowed.

“I don't ask you to clean up after me,” she said. “Just leave them.”

“And live in squalor?”

“It's just a bit of mess on the table!”

“A table that we both use!”

“Then go to the library,” the other girl snapped. “Just don't come in here and start shouting at me first thing in the... afternoon.”

Furious, Tris dumped the dishes from the kitchen into the sink and began to scrub with a fury. In all her life – keeping house for her relatives or Daja, living at Discipline or travelling with the finicky Niko – Tris had never had to share a space with a sloven before. Every morning, she left their rooms tidy and every afternoon. 

Tris put down the brush, her hands shaking from anger so much that she feared she'd crack a dish. Suddenly everything – the glimpse home, the wide eyes of the servile girl, Kerlick's gang and the unbearable, patronising ignorance of her last class – felt overwhelming. Slamming the last plate on the drain to dry, Tris swept out of her building and back towards the library. She'd felt a storm brewing that morning, a real storm. Just the thing to calm her down. 

It probably wasn't sensible, performing weather magic in the middle of the university, but she didn't care. The library was the tallest building in this part of the city, and she had roof access, courtesy of a letter from Niko. The bored young dedicate in charge of the library had been sceptical at first, wanting to know Tris's name and course of study, and spending a long time scrutinising Niko's letter before giving Tris a small red seal to carry in her pocket. 

She used that seal now to open the roof door and step out into the strong wind. This time, she didn't let her magic follow a single breeze, or pull it tight around her body, but thrust herself up into the swirling mess of clouds, smiling as she felt the storm uncurl above her. She raced through heavy dark clouds, thick with coming rain, and curled her magic around the prongs of building lightning.

Yes, she thought desperately as the first drops of water began to fall. Come on!

Grinning, she sent the last of her fury up into the air and delighted in the maelstrom which gathered above her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still exist! I promise! Just a short one to get my hand back in and then another chapter by next Sunday!


	4. Chapter 4

Though the rain was still driving relentlessly, much of the wind had died down and there would be no return of magic that evening. Lighter than she'd been in days, Tris left the rooftop with a clear head. Until she'd thrown herself into that storm, she'd had no idea how much the tight, humid air of Karang had bothered her, but now she moved with new life and purpose. So it was with a light spring in her step that veered sharply out of Lightsbridge Avenue and towards the Street of Panes. 

Though it was still early in the evening, many of the businesses had closed due to the storm, so the usually busy street looked dark and inactive by the time Tris made her way along the storefronts. But the house she was looking for still had warm lights glowing behind its large, clear windows, and when she knocked at the door, it opened almost at once to reveal a short, stocky man who peered up at her to grin hugely.

“Tris!” he called happily over the rain, and she had to take a minute to appreciate the sound of her real name in another's voice, “I wasn't sure when to expect you! Come in!”

She didn't need to be asked twice, stepping in smartly out of the rain.

“I don't mean to intrude, if it's a bad time-” she began, but the dwarf waved away her protests and beckoned her to follow him. 

A warm, handsome man with high cheeks, deep blue eyes and a very infectious smile, Erbar kept the most popular bookshop within a mile of the university. In the main shop itself, books were piled floor to ceiling, separated by dozens of different subject categories. Today, however, the vendor led her past the main shop upstairs to a comfortable set of rooms.

“You've picked your timing well,” Erbar told her when they reached the top of the stairs. “Leonie was threatening to visit you at home if you didn't come soon.”

Tris thought of the rooms she shared with Roelle and winced.

“Well, I'm here now,” she assured him. Old friends of Niko's, Erban and his wife were the only people in Karang, outside a few high ranking officials at Lightsbridge, who knew Tris's true identity. “How's Leonie doing?”

“She's big as a house, unable to walk downstairs and currently rather irritated and hungry,” came the smooth, elegant voice from the sitting room. Even heavily pregnant, Leonie looked poised and calm as she rested against the doorway, mouth quirking up a little at the sight of Tris. 

“Well, I can at least help with that last complaint,” Erbar assured her quickly. “Go sit down my dear – those dumplings should be ready.”

As he busied away to the kitchen, Tris took Leonie's elbow to help her back to the couch.

“Should be any day now,” the older woman explained, resting a long fingered hand on her belly. “Erbar has no idea what to do, so he keeps panicking and making masses of food.”

Tris had to laugh at that.

“The best men think with their stomachs, I've always found,” she said, thinking wistfully of Briar, who never stayed more than a day in a strange house without befriending the cook. “Are your ankles any better?”

Leonie smiled crookedly.

“I think I've resigned myself to never walking without pain again, as a matter of fact,” she said. “This little monster had better be worth it.”

Tris had no interest in becoming a mother herself, but understood enough to put a sympathetic smile on her face and assure her friend that the baby would certainly be worth it. Fortunately, more uncomfortable baby talk was cut short by the reemergence of Erban, bearing a tray loaded with fried dumplings, sliced black bread, bowls of different pates and spreads and two teapots, one large and the other small. Leonie's face hardened at the sight of the small teapot.

“Dutiful as ever,” she complained as her husband poured a generous measure of a bitter smelling liquid into a small, handleless cup. Tris could see the magic blazing in the tea and winced in sympathy; even Rosethorn couldn't make a Growth Draught which tasted anything other than appalling. In spite of her scowl, Leonie sipped the tea while Tris enjoyed her more mundane peppermint blend. The food, at least, was all delicious. She recognised the black bread from an expensive bakery in town, the kind she could only afford to shop in on special occasions. The rest of the meal was all Erban's own work. She recognised his magic for healing and protection laced through the food. 

“How are your studies going?” Leonie asked after a moment of dedicated eating. 

Tris shrugged.

“We're only covering the basics so far,” she explained. “Today we started on the distinctions between academic and ambient magic.”

Erban smiled crookedly.

“I take it Niko warned you about this?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I still couldn't stand sitting there while everyone discussed something they didn't understand. The dedicate – our teacher – claimed it was impossible to have both types of magic, which I can tell you was news to me.”

They both laughed sympathetically. While not a mage herself, Leonie was a noted scholar who took a prodigious interest in her husband's magic. Erban himself specialised in cooking, but knew as much about academic magic as anyone in the city. 

“I remember my own glorious days here,” he recollected. “All ten of them. That was about as much as I could stand before I left to travel the world.”

“I've done enough travelling for now,” Tris said. “I can live with a few foolish comments if it means getting my license in peace.”

“Never mind my foolish husband,” Leonie said, “he always misses out the six years he spent at Wave Circle. You stick to your studies, Tris. You won't regret them.”

Resisting the urge to point out that Leonie was starting to talk like a mother, Tris pulled a piece of paper out of her bag.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask a favour which could help with my studies,” she said, passing the paper to Erban. “I was thinking of finding work in the city, and I wanted some advice.”

He studied the list she'd drawn up of prospective employers and shook his head.

“You don't want work in the dark city,” he explained. “That'll draw the kind of attention you don't want. Keydan's being reported to the magistrates by a former employee, so that's one to avoid. I know for a fact Truton isn't hiring-”

“Why are you looking for work?” Leonie demanded, cutting off her husband. “I thought that Duke was paying your living here. Don't tell me he's too cheap to send an allowance!”

“No!” Tris said, alarmed. She wouldn't put it past Leonie to travel straight to Emelan to give the startled Duke Vedris a round lecture on his treatment of young dependants. “I want to take no more from his Grace than I have to,” she explained more calmly. “He's been more than generous to me, but I'd rather pay my own way as much as possible. I'd have become a servile, if he and Sandry had let me.”

The couple exchanged a luck.

“It's probably for the best that you're enrolled as a regular student,” Erban said after a tense moment. “I take it you haven't heard?”

“Heard what?” Tris asked, worry creeping through her. “What's happened.”

“One of the servile students,” Leonie explained. “Morpeg Hurnis. He was found in the cloisters the day before last, badly beaten.”

“How badly?” Tris asked, remembering the fiery pain of the curse she'd been placed under last summer all too well. 

“It may be too early to tell,” Erban said cautiously, but Leonie was already shaking her head.

“He'll never walk again, according to the healers,” she said flatly. “He's being sent home to Capchen as soon as he can be moved.”

Tris felt sick. Who would attack someone so savagely right here in the university. 

“Who did it?” she asked, hoping desperately that it wasn't somebody considered too important for the magistrates to punish.

Erban shrugged. 

“When we discover that, we'll probably have the answers to a lot of questions,” he said.

“What questions?”

“Why have 5 servile students left the university in the last fortnight, for one,” he said grimly. “Not all as dramatically as Erban, to be sure, but they've been dropping out abruptly over the last two weeks, citing one reason or another. One woman has been a loyal customer for the last 3 years of her studies which were going exceedingly well by all accounts. Last night I saw her sleeping outside Eilig's temple when I went to pay my alms.”

Memory flooded her of the beggar she'd seen crossing to the south of the city. She had known that face after all.

“You think it's all connected?” she asked, numb. “Somebody's getting rid of the serviles?”

“I can think of no other explanation,” Erban said tiredly. “Doubtless the magistrates are taking the situation very seriously and will discover the truth of what happened in time.”

“Yes,” said Leonie scathingly, “doubtless the people in the direct employ of the city's wealthiest citizens will be clamouring to bring justice to the despised servant class.”

“Well, that's a fair point,” said Erban mildly. “Still, it doesn't do to be too pessimistic. Perhaps a third party will help clear this up.”

His blue eyes met Tris, who flushed slightly. Travelling with Niko, she'd helped solve a series of murders, thus helping to secure her reputation in the south as a mage to take seriously. Although less dramatic than serial murders, solving the mystery behind the serviles' disappearances would draw attention to herself she badly wished to avoid. Not wanting Erban and Leonie to think ill of her however, she said nothing and allowed the subject to change. 

Long after she'd left their home, however, Tris was bound up in thoughts of the servile girl from the day's lecture, and those dark, terrified eyes which had watched her with dread. 

-

The storm, one of the fiercest Glasa had seen that year, blew over as suddenly as it arrived, leaving a clear, ink blue sky above. For once, the air in the city felt clean and cool; Phidra took advantage of the pleasant change to hike up to the top of Forla's hill, peering at the cold starlight in the still evening. 

It should have been perfect – a rare evening with nobody to clean up after or wait upon – but as she ascended the deep, sloping hill, her heart simply felt heavier and heavier. Quivering in a rock tight fist was the letter she'd been unable to put down all evening.

Servile students collected their letters from the post office at the university, having no official address to use, so when she'd returned from classes one day to find the first envelope tucked neatly under her door, Phidra had been curious. That curiosity only peaked when she'd tested the feel of the message; written on expensive gloss paper, the letter was ornately scribed in the finest black ink. It wasn't, in short, the kind of letter anyone would waste on a servile girl, but there was her name clearly embossed on the back. 

Irritated, she stuffed the letter in one of her uniform's deep pockets and strode more ferociously upwards, as though the exercise would calm her trembling nerves. But she'd scarcely taken a dozen paces before she angrily yanked the note back out and clutched it in numb fingers. 

At first glance, she'd dismissed the letter as some cruel joke. She didn't need to have been studying for long to detect the students' animosity towards studying along with serviles. Cruel jokes, hazing and pointed remarks about rank were the least of it, particularly after a week ago when Morpeg was beaten so badly that the healers thought he would never walk again.   
After that, a threatening letter seemed almost petty. The writer claimed to have information about Phidra, dangerous secrets which would be aired to all if she didn't leave her studies at once. Angry as she'd been at the time, she'd dismissed the claims as baseless intimidation tactics; she had lived a boring, blameless life, after all. 

It was startling to think she'd been so confident as little as an hour ago. Racing home to avoid the worst of the rain, she'd stumbled into her room to find a second, neat white envelope. This time, however, it wasn't slid under her door. This one was on her pillow. 

Gasping, she reached the top of the hill before sinking to her knees and gripping her hair until it hurt. It was so boilingly, sickeningly unfair. She'd worked so hard. Years of work and study crammed in around days in her family's shop, the blistering row she'd had with her parents over her decision to leave, the hurt and betrayal in her sister's eyes. 

After everything she'd been through, she hadn't even made it a month at Lightsbridge. But there was no possible way to stay now. 

After a long moment of panicked sobbing, she uncurled the letter in her palm. Even crumpled, it was obviously an expensive letter to write, with that creamy, thick paper and rich, runny lettering.

Phidra,

You've had two days. We'll give you one more. If you aren't gone by then, the whole city will know about your family's business dealings with House Dihanur. Their home will burn, their business will crumble. They'll be driven onto the streets. They may be killed. 

One Day. Your Choice. 

It was bitter, hateful, beyond anything she could imagine. That her family had made dealings with the despised merchants Dihanur wasn't a surprise to her, though she had no idea how this blackmailer had found them out. There wasn't really a question about what she should do next; she and her parents had disagreements about her future, but she couldn't sit back and be the cause of her family's ruin. 

For a long time, Phidra remained on the hilltop, staring out into the city. When she returned, she knew, it would be to pack her things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days! Hark, my guilt at disappearing for so long has its uses!

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! That was fun!
> 
> So, I was checking Tamora Pierce's website recently and saw that she has no immediate plans to write another book set in Emelan due to publisher issues. Needless to say, I'm a little heartbroken. So, to fill the void inside me, I'm having a stab at writing an Post-canon fic. 
> 
> Most of these characters are original, though a few familiar faces will pop up here and there. 
> 
> I'm aiming for fortnightly updates, approximately. I don't want to publish any chapters shorter than 3,000 words, so it'll take time getting updates out. 
> 
> Please take the time to kudos/comment if you enjoyed chapter one, and bonus points for anyone who spotted the Lolita reference!
> 
> See you in the next one!


End file.
